


Dogs are dirty like him. Cats are... Cats are cats.

by Flyleaf02



Series: Plotless Porn [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, Bodily Fluids Fetish, Creature Castiel, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Licking Fetish, M/M, Other, POV Sam Winchester, POV Third Person Limited, Parent/Child Incest, Past Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sastiel - Freeform, no graphic description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyleaf02/pseuds/Flyleaf02
Summary: Sam angles his head toward the window and the glossy black cat balancing himself on the ledge. The cat pushes his nose at the screen, vivid blue eyes blinking curiously. “You know, you'll fall off one day.” Sam snarks, stuffing another piece of ham into his mouth before shuffling himself onto his knees. The cat cooes again, then grumbles moodily when Sam doesn't seem incline to move closer to let him in.“Go home.”READ THE TAGS.





	Dogs are dirty like him. Cats are... Cats are cats.

**Author's Note:**

> Normal is the average of deviance.  
> —Rita Mae Brown
> 
> [Fuck You like an Animal by Nine Inch Nails](https://youtube.com/watch?v=4vSAOrpKlgY)

 

 

“You’re sure you don't need help getting your stuff upstairs?”

Draping his arm on the edge of the Impala's opened window, Dean glances back at Sam overcharged with groceries and his school bag.

“I’m fine.” Sam huffs as he nudges the trunk closed with his elbow. It's raining, his jeans and shoes are quickly getting soaked through and he doesn't want to linger out here. He doesn’t want _his brother_ to linger. Sam gives the growing puddle by the Impala's back tire a wide berth and waves his brother off.

Sam wonders idly if the frat boys from number 36 broke the front door's handle again. That would be the fourth time this year. He sighs.

Dean doesn't need to worry more than he already is.

The Impala disappears around the corner and Sam groans, dreading the three flights of stairs ahead of him. He shoulders the lobby door open, pawing at his front pockets for his keys, manoeuvring carefully not to drop anything. The handle isn't broken but some asshole has emptied out the newspaper bags under the mailboxes and they're stained with what appears to be leftover strawberry smoothie if the empty plastic cup from the nearby convenience store sitting on the pile is any indication.

At least, it isn't beer this time. Or piss. God, this place sucks.

Sam trudges up the stairs, huffing and straining. He's getting used to it though, and climbing three flights of stairs with an harmful is less exhausting than it used to be. The hallway smells like cheap cologne and pot, and first thing he hears is the high-pitched squeal of a laughing hyena and the crude raucous of the monkeys that brought her up here. Girlfriend, sex worker, who knows, who cares. Sam doesn't even spare a glance for the closed door that does very little to stifle all the noise they're making, and stops at number 37.

They're approximately seven in what is basically a bedroom with a stove and a toilet and someone needs to explain to him how that even works.

Sam kicks his own door close behind him and dumps his charge on the floor, stepping out of his shoes and clothes in the next breath. He throws them in the bathtub to his right from the doorway and steps over a few bags to open up the drapes and the window above his bed. From here all he can see is an empty parking lot, garbages cans and the inner façades of the buildings around the block. The breeze is barely getting in but it's better than nothing. He sets himself to the task of putting his grocery away and quickly finds himself in his boxer on the bed staring off at his phone as he eats a few slices of ham he bought.

It could be worse, Sam muses.

Flashes of the drunken old man crawling into his bed on cold winter nights, mumbling inane shocked up words about his mother and how much Sam looks like her floats through his mind. His brother found John in the bathtub a week after Sam moved out for college surrounded by drained whiskey bottles.

It's for the best.

It doesn't matter that Dean doesn't understand why he isn't sad. There's nothing to cry over when the man that used to be their father died the same night their mother crashed the family car and burned in the fire. He's finally joined her. Good for him.

It's been a little over a year now.

Sam still regularly goes on his grave to spew venom at John's name carved in stone.

It's freeing. If only a little late.

He's watching bits and pieces of Friends on YouTube chewing absentmindedly. A few resounding crude swear words crosses the hallway to his apartment and Sam squints at the door, making sure he locked it. He did.

Sure it's not perfect but he's fed, he has a roof over his head, he's managed to get a full ride to law school, Dean's hanging out at Lisa's place a lot, John's dead.

He's happy.

Stuffing pillows against the wall behind his back, he stretches his leg, relaxing. The pricy mattress was John's send-off gift. It's fitting, he guesses. It's hard to be mad when the damn thing single handedly solved all of his back problems. He'll still burn it off in a ditch somewhere one day. Film it too to be able to rewatch it over and over again, take a picture, dig a hole in John's grave and bury it with him so his father can enjoy the view.

Sam snorts.

No, Dean doesn't need to know.

 

“Hhhnn?”

Startling out of a factually sounded seventeen minutes long video on how exactly overpowered Pikachu is, Sam angles his head toward the window and the glossy black cat balancing himself on the ledge. The cat pushes his nose at the screen, vivid blue eyes blinking curiously. “You know, you'll fall off one day.” Sam snarks, stuffing another piece of ham into his mouth before shuffling himself onto his knees. The cat cooes again, then grumbles moodily when Sam doesn't seem incline to move closer to let him in.

“Go home.”

The cat huffs, pushes his little pink nose at the screen, once, twice. Moves impatiently on his little mittens-like paws. He cooes pleadingly.

Sam's heartbeat picks up and he refuses to acknowledge the way he’s slowly leaning in to slide the screen open. “Admit it, you only come back for the food.” The cat stretches his neck toward Sam’s hand, sniffing, possessively rubbing his whiskers at the hint of skin close enough to spread his sent on. “Come on, what do we say?” Sam whispers, there's an oppressive heat spreading in his limbs and the cat cooes softly, barely audible, a hint of a scratchy tongue visible between his parted sharp teeth. “Yeah, you're right. We say please.”

Sam drags the screen open a mere few inches and the agile feline wriggles his way in. Stepping down from the ledge to climb his lap, he plasters himself to Sam's belly, headbutting and begging for attention. The animal is warm and purring like a fourteen wheelers and Sam's gut twists itself into ten different sorts of knots.

He shooes him off. “Come on, Cas, want some ham?”

Sprawling back into his pillows, obnoxious neighbours and phone forgotten, Sam tears into the packet with trembling clumsy fingers to offer the cat a piece. Cas scarfs down the first three before huffing and sneezing. “Shhsh! Shhsh!"

"Are you trying to tell me I should vacuum this place?"

"Hhhnn."

"How dare you.” Sam jokes blandly, palm up to hand the cat more meat, waiting for him to gobble it up. Cas snuffs, wedging his little mug under Sam’s hand and up his forearm and shoulder, wet nose sniffing over Sam's increasingly clammy skin. “You should eat, you probably haven't in awhile.” He insists but the cat ignores him to nuzzle under his ear, purring up a storm. Short panting huffs ghost his temple and heat pools so quickly into his groin it twists and burns. He goes limp, waiting, heart lodged up in his throat.

“Hhhnn.”

A cold wet nose catches the inside of his ear, and the curious lick of a rough tongue makes Sam's toes curl painfully. “Careful.” He breathes out, his voice sounds flat to his own ears and the next tentative lick comes smoother and wetter.

This is bad, very bad. He hasn’t had a pet cat since Gabe for a reason.

They were still in Lawrence back then, the stray hung out in the backyard for a few weeks and then went on his way. He’s known ever since that no one in their right mind would allow him near a cat if they knew. The few first times Cas showed up Sam had tried ignoring him but the cat meowed his ear off until he caved in.

He licked Sam’s face and ears, and suddenly he was eleven years old again, rubbing his aching dick in cat’s fur and hating himself for it. It's also the day he gave Cas a name.

This is so bad.

Sam pushes the ham away.

Little paws tightens on his chest, loosens, tightens. Clawless patties as the animal cuddles his side and cooes in his ear, licking and licking, and Sam quivers, moving onto his side to wrap his arms around the fluffy creature. He feels the urge to apologize, atone for his foul desires. The cat doesn't ball up his limbs protectively between them, instead loosely offering his warm furry belly to Sam's chest.

He feels the molten honey dripping, scary and wild in his gut, and he buries his face into the cat's neck. Cas cooes and licks wetly at his jaw, his cheek and Sam feels his knees tremble. He scratches at Cas’s back with blunt fingernails, and the purring deepens, buzzing through Sam’s ribcage in a heated barrage of _need_ . He can't. Can't. It's too much. It feels wrong. It feels good. It feels like he's going to fly apart. He doesn't want to take advantage, he swore he wasn't going to again, he's sick, sweet cuddly little thing doesn't know. It's not right. Not right— God he's already so _close_.

No, _no, stop._

_You're not him._

He pries Cas away from his face as the cat starts licking sweetly at his squeezed eyelid. His skin feels sticky, and overheated, and how can a cat produce so much saliva? Cas yelps, tries to paw at his naked collarbone, claws retracted but Sam firmly holds him back. The cat peers up at him, big blue questioning eyes and it feels even more wrong now because Cas just looks dejected and hurt, and God, is he going insane because a cat shouldn't look heartbroken. “Remember what I said last time? You have to stop doing that, okay?"

"Hhhnn…”

Cas wriggles and meows pitifully, extending his short neck to lick at air, a kitten begging for milk and Sam jerks back, static in his mind, and an itch under his flesh. He drops the poor cat onto the sheets, and crawls back on his ass a few feet. Sprawled on his back, Cas rolls over on his stomach and immediately springs across the mattress, scariest ball of innocence Sam's ever seen. He jumps off the bed. “I said no!”

The cat keens.

“Out.”

Cas snuffs, and shots him a vexed glare.

The cat flings himself at him.

“Woa.” Sam catches him, reflexive self-preservation at the vivid foresight of twenty little razors embedded in his tender tissues. Sam grunts as he doubles over cradling 7-pounds of ticked off cat low on his hips. A stripe of wet tongue across his navel makes his belly tense in shock and his dick weep.

Everything feels too hot, too tight, Cas’s curious sniffles and licks at his navel bringing his ball up and close, and _ready_ , and he forces the cat off him and back onto the bed. Cas yelps indignantly and his front paws latch onto his boxers, pulling them down. Stricken with horror, Sam freezes, willing his dick to not leap out at the sweet thing’s face. He's so fucking close, he'll come all over Cas’s silky soft fur the second the cat is bound to rub up against his swollen dick. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much.

_Please, don’t._

He lets go of Cas, panting and shivering, to lean down on his palms to support his shaky legs. _Don’t, don’t, don’t— oh my God do it—_ Cas lands on his four paws, drags the boxers further along his legs and Sam can't move, struck motionless.

Praying Cas does. Praying he doesn't.

He does.

 _He does_ and Sam is letting him.

Cas leans his cold huffing nose closer to his strapped down cock and he's letting him.

God, _he's letting him._

Wet and warm, there's nothing tentative to it as Cas licks up the shaft of his angry red cock. Once, twice before Cas angles his little inquisitive head further down, his paws tightening and loosening, kneading his thighs. He purrs, deep and rumbly, and satisfied as he noses and licks at the growing sticky spot of his boxer. It rips him in half and tears stream down Sam's cheeks as he comes in his underwear and Cas keeps licking, and licking.

“Cas…” He begs half-moan half-sob at the unrelenting little feline, the cat cooes happily, and Sam's shaking so forcefully, he's unraveling at the seams.

He came, he fucking did. This is horrible, he's sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Awful, abomination.

Oh my God, why is he still hard!

Cas grumbles, noses harder at the now slimy spot as if he's desperately trying to get at what's on the other side through the fabric and Sam chokes back his hiccuping sobs and shame.

_If you're going to act like daddy's proud son, stop being a bitch about it._

_Do it._

So he does. He pulls his boxer the rest of the way, fingers numb, and his dick perks up. Cas grunts and huffs at the underside of it and Sam can't look. Anything but look down. He can't. _Can't._ Quick kitten licks lap hungrily at the head of his cock and the bitter remnants of his orgasm, and fire licks his bone. He's leaking long thick rope of precome, so much of it he _knows_ that if he looked, Cas’s cute pink nose would be shiny with it. His muzzle, his soft cheeks, fluttering whiskers and his glossy black chest fur painted in sin.

He wants this to _stop_. He wants this to never end.

He's drowning, shocking up uncontrollably as he angles his weeping desire down for Cas to lave at the slit. Once, twice, again and again, it goes on and on, and Sam feels like he's going to explode. “I'm sorry. Cas, I'm so sorry. Sorry, sorry.” He babbles as he reaches over, scratches with his free hand behind the cat's ears and Cas's deeply content purrs makes Sam want to crawl into a hole and die. He splays his hand more fully into Cas’s fur and caress his back up and down, long strokes down his side, his dripping muzzle as he massages his seed further into the fur, rubs the poor angel's neck and scruff in it.

Swipe after swipe of tongue, he feels his impending orgasm built like liquid fire in his gut, so deliciously painful it throbs. Too much. _It's too much._

Every muscles of his body clamp up and he shouts brokenly as the gush of hot release paints Cas’s muzzle white and gooey. Deaf to the world, the purring is all he can hear, the licking, God, the _fucking_ licking. He whimpers loudly, a long last spurt of come leaking free as Cas laps it up. There’s no afterglow, only sinking, and sinking.

Sam scrambles back and away, pulling clumsily at his underwear to cover himself. He feels guilty, and disgusting. Dirty. He cries ugly tears and apologizes again as he picks the animal up and cradle him to his sweaty chest and neck.

The bottom half of Cas’s cute little mug is thoroughly drenched in come, and so is his front.

Innocent blue eyes looks up at him and slow blinks lovingly, and is it still rape when the victim looks so deeply happy? Does he know? Does Cas know what he did? How could he know? How could he _not_ know?

Animals are pure and innocent, and maybe the majority of people can fool themselves into thinking that they’re oblivious too but there’s a damn reason Dean’s dog whines to get into the bed and all up in his face every time he stays over and it catches him jacking off no matter how many times he said ‘stay out’.

Does it change anything?

Swallowing around the knot in his throat, Sam settles Cas on the kitchen counter, pushing dirty dishes here and there to make more space. The cat is licking his lips, working to get himself clean, like the aftermath of a good meal, and Sam hurriedly fishes around the bottom drawer for a clean cloth to wipe Cas with.

Sam wets the rag under the tap and Cas eyes him warily when presented with the very real reality of a bath. He stops purring. Sam feels like crying again.

“Oh _now_ , you’re unhappy?”

The cat still lets Sam wash him down, and unclump his come shiny filthied fur.

Sam gives Cas an extra helpful of ham but it’s a cheap compensation and only makes him feel awful. No amount of food, and cuddling can right this kind of wrong.

He should know.

 

“No, Dean. I'm not dogsitting Zepp.”

Sun is setting, it's Saturday, the frat boys next door are having a party. Two assholes are having a wrestling match in front of his door and Sam really, really hates his life right now. “You’re such a pussy, you—"

"Ah!” An heavy mass falls to the floor, then more swearing and screams. Sam rolls his eyes, and sighs. “Hhnnn?” Cas tilts his head, ears perking up with interest at the entrance from his balled up position wedged in Sam's armpit.

“Come on, man, it's just for two days."

"I don't care, ask Lisa or Charlie. Dogs are clingy."

"Ah! Clingy. You should take a good look at that cat you've been feeding."

"Dogs stink.”

Dean hisses softly, more amused than pissed.

Sam doesn't tell Dean that dogs are just this side of wrong that makes his skin crawl everytime one rub itself on him.

Sure, cats can be needy, their hair gets everywhere but they don't smell for one thing, and no matter how much he hates himself for it, cats don't make him hyper aware of his deviance like dogs do. Maybe it’s a matter of age. He was still a naive kid when Gabe showed up. Meanwhile he was sixteen when Dean found Zepp bloodied and beaten up behind the dumpster of a Jack in the Box.

The way he stared, and stared at Zepp laying down on the back porch of Dean's downtown apartment, licking his peeking veiny red cock and grunting is something he'll never be able to burry deep enough to forget.

Dogs are dirty like him.

Cats are… Cats are cats.

“I have this paper due for Monday anyway, I can’t spend the weekend in transit just to go to your place twice a day to let it out."

"Sure, mister straight-As. Don't forget to have fun. What happened to that blonde girl you're seeing… Jess, is it?"

"She’s just a friend. We aren't _seeing_ each other."

"Just saying, maybe, you know."

"I’m happy as it is, sue me."

"Lonely and horny?"

"Single and free.” Sam stresses. What else could he say? That ever since John died, he can't stand another human touching him? It's fine, really. There's no one to cry his way into his heart, no one to nag him and tell him what he should or should not do. No one to invade his personal space. No one to say no to and having it brushed off. Goddamn peace.

A shout from the corridor startles him.

Well, almost.

But the doors are five inches thick here and Sam’s is locked so it's fine. His gaze flicks nervously toward the door, yes it is. Okay, good.

Also, cats are small and safe.

Dogs are big, they make him nervous.

Cas cooes, sniffs at the corner of his mouth, gives a quick lick before settling down. Sam's stomach flips and churns. No, not safe. Not safe at all. He promised himself that he wouldn’t let Cas in again. This is wrong. Wrong, wrong. He's wrong. This whole world is fucking wrong. In what world do fathers—

“If you say so. Alright, I'll leave you to it. Good night, Sammy."

"It’s Sam.”

Dean snickers and the line goes dead.

Scowling, Sam jerks the phone away from his face to glare at it. “Hhnnn.” Cas squints at the offending pieces of technology as he kneads at Sam's chest and he could swear that the cat is annoyed too. “I don't know what you just called him but he's a jerk. Got it? Jerk?”

Cas slow blinks at him, and Sam reflects idly on the fact that if Cas was a parakeet, he could actually teach him to call Dean a jerk. Sam isn't sure if he's happy Cas can't talk or not. He scratches him behind the ears and Cas closes his piercing blue eyes. It looks like he's smiling. “How many people, do you think, buy a parakeet just to teach it how to swear?"

"Hhnnn."

"Yeah, probably a lot.”

Yawning, Sam nuzzles at the top of Cas’s head and sighs contentedly. Cats always smell so clean, and comforting. His fingers drag down to scratch at Cas’s scruff and Sam freezes when Cas leans his head up to lick at his cheek and right nostril, skirts down to his upper lip. It's gross yet he doesn't move, listens to his heartbeat skyrocketing through the roof instead. _He's_ gross. “Cas, no."

"Hhnnn.”

The cat crawls further up his chest, offering his belly to be warmed by Sam's own clothed chest. He's wearing a flannel shirt this time, thank God for small miracles, not that the mental image of his stubborn little angel trying to crawl his way under it is helping in the slightest.

“Cas, don’t let me do this to you.” He says, a warm tongue dips between his lips by accident and Sam shivers. Cas leans away and tilts his head, big fluffy ears at attention. “Hhnnn?”  

Sam's blood goes hot and not in that pleasurable but shameful way Cas stirs up.

The cat looks awfully like he's trying to ask him what Sam is talking about and it's striking enough that he feels the brief but very powerful urge to jump off the bed and run. They stare off for a few seconds and Sam swallows with difficulty before continuing, “I'm not thinking advantage of you again.” His voice wavers.

The cat's reaction is to try and start licking at his mouth again. Sam holds him down, he's shaking. “I'm serious.” Cas cooes and clicks soothingly, stretching his neck forward to ghost an oddly pleasant breathe over his lips but not far enough to reach, and suddenly pieces that weren't fitting together a second ago does.

No foul breathe, soft tongue, too much saliva, no collar but well behaved and arguing back. _Cas is arguing with him._

“Cas, show me your tongue."

"Hhnnn?” The cat shots him a puzzled look, and Sam's mind fills with static. “You heard me.” There's a pregnant pause during which Cas seems to consider the strange human that would rather talk to him than accept his affection, and Sam frowns. What did he expect? For Cas to do it? This is dumb, of course Cas doesn't understand what he just asked. He's a fucking cat. But then Cas _opens his mouth._

Sam stops breathing.

He twitches an abortive move to bolt off but freezes when he truly sees Cas’s tongue. It doesn't have little needles on it designed to clean fur anymore and it looks far too _human_. “What are you?” Cas only cooes and crawls up a few inches. He tentatively licks a wet stripe across Sam’s bottom lip and either Cas is a cat and Sam is losing his goddamn mind on top of being a sick freak, or Cas isn't a cat… and Sam is still a sick fuck. “Cas, Cas, stop.”

The not-cat growls.

“I'm serious, come on. This is… You—”

There's a shift and Sam is sweating through his flannel shirt and thin boxer shorts as the weight on his chest gets heavier. Cas stretches, a lazy pull of muscles not unsimilar to someone waking up from a nap but he's piling on volume, two paws come down to frame his narrow hips and while Cas is still a cat, he's not the size of a domesticated cat anymore.

More like a bangal.

It's bad, no matter which direction you look at it from, it’s very bad. If he's not crazy then Cas is… _something_ , and he should run, run far, run _now_ . Those sharp claws and long teeth, they could— Cas’s furry butt firmly pressed down on his crotch and— _oh._

_Oh._

Is this better though?

But Cas is… _What_ the hell is Cas?

Is it important?

Is it still rape when the victim wants it?

Is it still beastiality if the animal is aware enough to fully understand the situation? Yes, yes of course it is. What is he yapping on about? It's not because dogs can be trained to fuck people that it makes it okay.

But then it's a moot point because Cas starts wiggling restlessly on his crotch and purring, loud and deep, and Sam's mind snaps. He digs both his hands in Cas’s fur, fingers splayed large as he caresses the creature's sides and back, up and down. It's soft and smooth, and warm, and Sam feels his very quickly hard cock push against the not-bengal’s belly. There’s an overwhelming wave of need burning in his guts, swallowing him whole, and Cas’s dilated blue eyes slip shut.

“Okay, okay.” Sam whispers trying to soothe himself but his knees are shaking.

There's a slick substance dripping down the back of Cas’s strong thighs as Sam nervously palms them up and he's not sure if he's going to hurl, moan or cry.

Cas cants his hips up, inviting, like a queen in heat, and licks wetly at Sam's mouth, silent wordless pleading. Sam groans and Cas’s tongue slips past his lips, and over his front teeth, laps at the roof of his mouth. “Hhnnn…”

Feverish, Sam pulls and shoves his boxer out of the way and gently coaxes Cas’s hips down to be able to grind his weeping dick against the creature's taint. Cas’s pleading attention to his mouth relents but stays close, knowing he's won. He cooes and purrs, and when Sam dips a finger inside Cas’s burning channel, the cooing lowers down into a lustful rumble of pleasure. Cas’s body accepts the intrusion easily, ridged, wet and so clearly made for this. So Sam withdraws his finger and helps Cas down on his cock.

The not-bengal trembles, paws sliding up his collarbone to find purchase. Claws dig into his shirt and locks into place as Sam picks up a rhythm that quickly makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. Cas gives one, two furious licks inside his panting mouth. Sam groans and licks back. It feels human, it tastes human, and Cas lets out a surprised coo when their tongues touch and slide against one another.

Sam wants to feel grossed out, he really wants to but he doesn't.

Cas’s slick is pooling in the trimmed curls of Sam's groin as he drives his hips up into the snug heat of Cas’s ass. Cas breaks off from his mouth and meows, and meows, and bucks down in an awkward movement that speaks of the unnatural position Sam forced the feline in. The poor thing is melting into him though, happy puddle of arousal and there's so much slick, Cas’s ass and back legs are a crazy wet mess of fur.

Cas meows again, and it's so pitiful it sounds pained. That squeezing down on his balls with quivering fingers is all Sam can do not to come yet. Cas's channel flutters around him and squeezes and Sam can barely breathe, it's so hot, so good. His upper thighs twitch and his dick begs for release but Sam only squeezes down harder on his balls.

The world’s starting to lose its edge, his hips stutter helplessly, and all that remains is Cas’s tortured whimpers and this fire raging in his flesh.

“Come for me, angel, my little angel. Want to see you. Want to—”

Cas hiccups and sobs, and suddenly that sweet, sweet heat around him clam up, stealing his breath and a sticky substance coats both their bellies easing the friction of fur on flannel. Sam releases the grip on his balls. It takes all but five upstrokes and he's seeing stars, painting his seed deep into Cas’s body.

He can feel the not-bengal trembling and purring his rapture and Sam drives up and up until he's so oversensitive he can't anymore.

He pecks Cas on the whiskers and relaxes into the pillows, boneless jelly while the not-bengal retracts his claws and starts kneading at his shoulders. Eyes half-lidded, Cas purrs contentedly. Sam groans in sad resignation, “Smug little shit…"

"Hhnnn.” Cas agrees.

“You'll be sorry later when I'll have to wash you off.”

The purring stutters before picking up again.

“That's what I thought.”

Cas stretches his neck, his small huff sounds offended but then he's licking at Sam's lips again so Sam lets him.

 

“I'm making dinner and Lisa's coming. Wanna invite Jess over?"

"Dean, we're not—"

"Doesn't have to be Jess either…”

Cas cooes demandingly under him, thrusting back his canted hips against Sam's very exposed dick, and Sam groans in irritation at his brother's voice still talking about how Sam needs to go out more, make friends, a _girlfriend_. Cas’s long tail flings him in the chin as he rubs his taint against Sam's crotch with insistence, smearing hot sweet slick. The not-bengal rumbles.

Dean keeps talking and it should be weird but Sam wouldn't recognize weird anymore if it slapped him in the face.

There’s a rack in Hell with his name on it waiting for him.

“Fine, fine. I'll _call_ her, happy?"

"Be here at six.”

Dropping the phone in the sheets, Sam leans on one hand over Cas’s back, takes hold of his increasingly angry cock and slides home. Cas cooes, kneading at the mattress as he pushes his hips further up on his almost fully extended back legs, presenting. The soft tightness makes Sam's thighs shake, and then he's rolling in and out, scratching Cas’s spine. Cas meowls in pleasured satisfaction and Sam forgets about Dean, about Jess.

 

The semester's finally over, his teachers are happy with him, Dean's proud, he's got a date with Jess in an hour and his neighbors are still colossal dickheads but spring is coming and his taxes are done so it's all fine. Granted, he's been getting weird looks these days every time he meets the frat boys in the hallway and Sam's been thinking about asking Cas to be quieter but they probably think he's just got a girlfriend who's into kinky shit so he doesn't because they aren't the only ones making noise anymore.

 

He's putting away clean dishes when he hears the familiar sound of Cas’s arrival. He's standing on the ledge as usual and Sam's stomach drops unpleasantly at the squirming pissed off little ball of fur Cas is carrying between his teeth by the scruff. Sam lets them in and the kitten bolts across the room as soon as he's let free.

Cas swings his tail irritably.

The little demon is under the bed, banging around between unopened boxes before Sam can even take a good look at it. He blinks, unsure how he’s supposed to react. He turns to Cas. “So, you didn't tell me you have a kit.” He says slowly.

Cas huffs and lays down on the pillow he's standing on, scrubbing his paw over his cheeks and whiskers. A worrisome scratching noise comes from under the bed and Sam can already see the paint being scratched to hell as Cas calmly keeps cleaning his face. Mildly uncomfortable and confused, Sam crouches down to try and catch a peek of the little devil but to no avail. He hums thoughtfully and stands up to walk over to the refrigerator for a token of good intentions.

He brings out some leftover beef and clicks his tongue. “Hey, you hungry?”

Two piercing hazel eyes appear between the vacuum cleaner and the foot of the bed. Its dirty blonde fur is ruffled in a dusty display of impertinence and the kitten squints at him. Sam's throat goes dry but really it's stupid, it can't be, right? “Beef?” He asks, and the kitten pats his way from under the bed to Sam's feet. He lets out an intimidating growl.

“No need to be rude I'll give it to you.”

Opening the plastic container, Sam turns over the lid and settles it on the floor before offering the evil thing a fair share of meat. It almost snaps his index finger in his eagerness to scarf it down. Sam hisses, protectively holding his hands far away from the kitten’s teeth.

“If you throw up I'll be _pissed_.”

Sam shoots Cas a look to where he's still lazing on Sam's pillow, and God help him, the not-cat looks awfully pleased with life. He doesn’t remember Cas taking on weight but then again, how big can a cat become when it only carries one kit? No, really, it's stupid, the kitten _can't_ be _his_ , right? _Right?_ He can’t be a father. He just can’t. This is wrong, he shouldn’t be allowed near pets, let alone a fucking _kid_.

What if he… He wouldn’t do that to his own kid, right?

No, no, he wouldn’t. He won’t. Okay.

Sam frowns. Okay, sure because that’s the major issue here and not the fact that _his kid_ is a fucking… _something_. The little devil coughs and hacks, and then he's chewing again and Sam sighs deeply in resignation. He crouches down next to it, eyeing the kit warily.

It growls at him in warning then resumes stuffing its face.

Sam’s pretty sure that given the opportunity the damn thing would eat _Zepp_. He wonders idly if the kit would be amenable enough to sneak next door and give his neighbors the freight of their existence. “You know what, I'll call you Lucifer, how does that sound?”

The kitten huffs. It sounds suspiciously like a mocking laugh.

“Well, it’s either that or The Antichrist, pick your poison.”

Sam carefully refrains from pondering the logistics of how Cas gave birth to it.

 

Dean doesn’t even bat an eye when he tells him that Cas brought home a kitten and that he intends on keeping it. Jess thinks it’s adorable.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologize but I don't want to.
> 
> I wish I could tell you that the neighbors are just a figment of my imagination. #EndMe
> 
> If you can guess who's video Sam was watching, you get a cat-shaped cookie.


End file.
